


Note Stuck, Love Struck

by moonfishes



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coming of Age, Crushes, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, The Great Sticky Note Debacle, ridiculously dramatic, some side ships!, taeyong pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22753405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfishes/pseuds/moonfishes
Summary: It’s eight in the morning, and Taeyong can’t go to registration because there’s a problem.There's a sticky note on his locker.Hi, how was heaven when you left it?is written in pink sparkly gel pen, adorned with little smiley faces and hearts.Taeyong chokes on his mint. Ten starts laughing. "What—what," he says, gasping for air,"the fuck?"(Or: Taeyong receives sticky notes from an unknown admirer. Things spiral out from there.)
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 30
Kudos: 104





	Note Stuck, Love Struck

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic since September, and it has been a whirlwind experience, oh my god. This should be around 4/5 chapters, and I hope to update as quickly as possible. 
> 
> The biggest thanks goes to [punkrightnow,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrightnow/pseuds/punkrightnow) who has helped me immeasurably from the start: from listening to me whine about the fic, being my biggest cheerleader, and picking through the first chapter with a fine-toothed comb and so much patience, you've done it all! Thank you so much, I couldn't have done it without you. I adore you like Johnny <3
> 
> Note about the setting: I've vaguely set it in a 'big Asian city', as that's my background and I feel most comfortable writing it as that, but feel free to imagine it as any city you want.
> 
> Please enjoy the first chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

It starts with Ten talking about making out with Johnny over the weekend.

 _"Wait,_ " Taeyong asks, "Johnny’s not straight? _Johnny?_ Johnny Suh?"

Ten stares at him. "Taeyong."

"What?"

"He literally propositioned yo— _me_ in the hallway the other day? You were there?"

Taeyong was there, but he doesn’t remember any of that happening. All he remembers is Johnny politely asking if they’d like to come to a party at his place; his parents were away, leaving a gaggle of teenagers free to raid their well-stocked home bar—would Taeyong and Ten be down to join this weekend? Johnny was aiming for a crowd of around twenty. Taeyong had declined, citing homework issues, but Ten was more than willing to accept. It was Johnny Suh, after all. Who didn’t want to hang out with well-meaning teddy bear, big beansprout, and all-around nice guy Johnny Suh?

"No he didn’t!" Taeyong protests. "He was just being nice and inviting us to a party!"

"By offering to divest me of my clothing and stick his tongue down my throat?" Ten shakes his head and pats him on the back. "Taeyong. Please pick up on sex cues. Yes, he’s embarrassing, but he literally said _I’ll show you mine if you show me yours_ while dropping down to that sexy lower register. Don’t tell me you missed that."

"Nooo," Taeyong groans, "don’t say it like that, please. He was talking about apartments—wait." He grabs Ten by the shoulders, stopping them mid-walk to class. "Was it just you at the ‘party’ this weekend then? Ten! Were you safe? Did you use protection?"

Ten grins at him. "What, you jealous?"

"No!"

Ten rolls his eyes, but he’s still grinning. "Chill out, I’m just fucking with you. Nothing happened. We just snuck into his bedroom for a little while."

That’s new. Ten’s most definitely talked about finding Johnny attractive—hell, even Taeyong’s admitted it—so why wouldn’t he jump at the chance to sleep with him? Johnny’s not lacking in personality either. He’s a sweet guy by all accounts; it doesn’t make any sense. "Why? Was he a bad kisser or something?"

Ten smirks. "Oh, he’s a hell of a good kisser—he’s just really not my type."

Johnny ticks all of Ten’s boxes for a prospective significant other: tall, dark-haired, and fashionable. Taeyong uses the might of his eyebrows to project a _?????._

Ten rolls his eyes. "Don’t look at me like that, I know what you’re thinking. It’s just that Johnny," he sighs, "is such a sap. He wants to give chocolates and roses and write sonnets for his _beloved_. He wants a long-term relationship, the kind where you have to kiss each other goodbye before class and hold hands during recess. I bet he cooks a five-star meal for all his dates. I bet his favourite sex position is _missionary._ I bet he lights scented candles and scatters rose petals on his duvet covers before sex, ugh. We’re seventeen, for god’s sake! I don’t have the time for that! He’s just too romantic and my cold dead heart can’t take any of it."

Taeyong’s mildly surprised by this. Johnny Suh, captain of the volleyball team...is capable of using a stove? "Johnny cooks?"

Ten grins at him. "After everything I just said, that’s what you focus on? But yes, actually...everyone was kind of drunk and he managed to make, uh, these tempura banana thingies? Yeah, some fried banana thing from a youtube video. So yes, he cooks."

"...Fried banana thing?"

"It was really good! You should’ve come! I mean, he invited both of us, so I still don’t understand why you didn’t."

"What, and have Johnny stick his tongue down my throat too?" Taeyong scoffs.

Ten cocks his head towards him, and surveys him for a moment. "Yes," he says, looking contemplative, "why not?"

Taeyong splutters. _"Why not?"_

"He’s attractive, you’re attractive, you’re both clearly attracted to each other, so yeah? What’s the problem?"

"Excuse me—" Taeyong glares at Ten, who’s smirking at him like he’s just solved some kind of big riddle, "—I am not _clearly_ attracted to Johnny Suh. I’ve just said, once, that he isn’t... bad looking. That doesn’t mean that he’s exceptionally good looking either. And who the hell said he’s attracted to me? He isn’t attracted to me!"

"Suit yourself," Ten says flippantly. He pushes Taeyong towards the next flight of stairs. "Let’s go, we’re going to be late for English. All I’m saying is, I’m pretty sure there’s a mutual connection somewhere. You know, Aquarius and Cancer. Opposites attract. That kind of thing."

"No," Taeyong says adamantly. "Absolutely not. Please stop talking, I don’t want to think about it." 

"Yeah, okay, suit yourself," Ten repeats, and thankfully drops the subject. "Hey, can you help me real quick? My English teacher is a real bitch and I’ve learned nothing this year. The fuck is a polysyndeton and why do I need to know about it?"

As Taeyong combs through the stylistic devices in Ten’s poetry handbook, he tells himself very adamantly that he isn’t going to think about it. At all. Not about the party, or Ten and Johnny making out, or Johnny at all.

* * *

The thing is, Taeyong does think about it. 

Taeyong thinks about the way Johnny seems to care about everyone. Four years ago, he was a transfer student from a small town thrust into a metropolis of a city—the transition was all too quick and too much, and Johnny, gangly acne-ridden Johnny, had offered to show him around the school. It was the nicest thing anyone could have done for him: he was a lonely suburban boy stepping foot into the foreign halls of his new school, and here was someone trying to make it _less_ lonely.

It was—well—unexpected. Nobody had really liked Taeyong at thirteen. He was _weird,_ to put it lightly, choosing anime over friendship and getting into real fights with people over Pokemon Go. Friendships were cultivated over Super Smash Bros, and lost as soon as the K.O sounded. Sleepovers and birthday party invites were almost non-existent. Oftentimes, he found himself sitting by himself at lunch. Who else could he sit with? His best friend had been his mother, after all.

Mostly, it was alright: Taeyong hadn’t minded being alone. Being alone meant that he didn’t have to worry about hurting other people, because there was no-one there to hurt. But it could be so _anchorless_ sometimes, the loneliness, and as Johnny filled in Taeyong’s silence with chatter about the shitty Chinese food that their school served, he’d felt—anchored, in a way he’d never felt before. 

Johnny did the talking; Taeyong listened. That was all thirteen year old Taeyong wanted: to be heard, but to be heard in his silence.

They never really properly talked after the school tour—Johnny’s not really a friend, more like a close acquaintance—but Taeyong has never forgotten about it, four years later. He still thinks about it, and Johnny, and how he still smiles at him in the hallway or asks him how he’s doing in the morning. Sometimes he’ll share stories with Taeyong _,_ little tidbits of school gossip, and pass him a hershey’s kiss when he looks upset. Sometimes he’ll compliment him on his outfit. Sometimes he’ll even hold the door open for him after class, like some kind of fucking fairytale Prince Charming. 

There’s no reason for Johnny to do these things: he’s a popular kid with popular friends, so his social life in highschool has almost been mapped out for him. And Taeyong’s grown a bit too: he’s not popular but he does have friends now, actual friends that he adores and will keep beyond a game of Super Smash Bros. He’s also Head Boy, and that title doesn’t come lightly. There’s no need for Johnny to coddle him, or to be nice to him out of pity. 

But, Taeyong thinks frustratedly, he still _cares._ He’s still so nice. It only makes Taeyong think about him more.

Why did Ten have to mention it? Now he can only think about Johnny. His open, unbridled laughter. His smile. His unfettered kindness, too much and too magnanimous. And just—the little webs that crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he laughs, gentle creases that reflect the gentleness of his personality. 

"Ah, fuck," Taeyong groans. He’s on the subway ride home, cursing his brain for deciding to have this epiphany in a piss-drenched, people-packed subway cart. He can see a used condom on the floor, for god’s sake. He’s also pretty sure that the dried red spot on the compartment window is blood. It’s the worst possible time to realize that he might have caught something—a _crushing_ cold, perhaps—though, he reasons, at least the vomit stains on his neighbour’s shoes mirror his current distraught state of mind. 

"Anything wrong, young man?" an old lady asks, hobbling over to pat him on the back. "Do you need someone to talk to?"

"Not at all," Taeyong says miserably. He buries his face in his hands. "I’m fine. Completely fine."

He keeps telling himself this during the rest of the ride, almost missing his stop as he stews on this uncomfortable Johnny Realization. During the walk back home from the station, he walks into seven different streetlights in a row. In the lift ride up to his apartment, he gets the stinkiest look from his vape shop owner neighbour for tapping his heeled shoes too loudly. 

_Clack clack clack clack_ —the sound of Taeyong’s heart right now. Confused.

 _"Dude,"_ his neigbour groans. "Please. Stop. My head is already throbbing, stop making it worse."

"Sorry," Taeyong mumbles, and dashes out of the lift the moment it arrives at their floor. He frantically jerks his door open and makes a dash for his room, thankful that his mum is on a business trip and won’t be back until next week—she’d probably tease him for days if she found out that he was having a near-mental breakdown because of a boy. And not a boy he usually interacts with, or anything.

Fucking Johnny Suh.

Taeyong’s brain lets out a silent, strangled scream. Is this a crush? What is a crush anyways? He’s never had one before. Or is this just—a mere blip of interest, one that every highschooler is required to experience? He grabs his phone off the bedside table, texting Ten _hey i have a question_ and flopping back down onto his bed. Ten replies within a minute: _sure. what’s up?_

**Taeyong**

you know uhhh. what you said earlier

**Ten**

what

**Taeyong**

about johnny and i being attracted to each other

**Ten**

looool it was a joke pls dont take it seriously

**Taeyong**

yes but

is there any basis

on the johnny side of things i mean

like

does he actually

**Ten**

………

srsly????

??????

ur asking me if i think johnny likes u right

because u like him too?

**Taeyong**

NO!! LOL!!

i’m just curious 

haha

**Ten**

god dude ur so dumb 

i mean

im not gonna say yes 

but im not gonna say no either

What does that _mean?_ Taeyong lets out a scream—real this time—and calls Yuta.

"Hey bitch," Yuta says, utterly disinterested. Taeyong can hear the tetris theme song in the background, muffled by the shitty phone connection. 

"Are you busy right now?"

The sound of the computer keyboard becomes even louder. "Huh?" 

"I said, are you busy right now?"

"Nah, I only have maths homework," he pauses, cursing, and the theme song disappears. "What’s up? Want me to come over? I think our teachers set the same thing, so we can do it together and watch Netflix after."

"Yes please," Taeyong says, hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate. Yuta only lives a few streets away anyways, and he’s one of those 90s wannabe kids who carts a skateboard around everywhere he goes, so it really won’t take him long. He’s also the closest thing Taeyong has to a best friend, so Taeyong knows that there’s no way he’d turn down an invitation to raid the Lee family’s ice cream freezer. 

Sure enough, the doorbell rings just as Taeyong’s letting the ice cream thaw. 

"Dude," Yuta says, when Taeyong opens the door to let him in, "your neighbour is, like, smoking up the corridor today. I want some of that."

Taeyong sniffs the air—the artificial smell of bubblegum candy and tropical fruit nearly makes him gag. "Seriously?" 

Yuta snorts. "Ok, maybe not. But I’ll get Jaehyun to stop by one of these days. He’s obsessed with this shitty artificial flavour."

Taeyong can’t say he knows Jaehyun very well—he just knows that Jaehyun is one year younger than him, friends with Yuta, and very popular. Also, that even though he’s a darling according to every teacher in the school, he probably has his juul pen hidden in his bag at all times. Everyone knows where he hides his limited edition pink lemonade juul pods on the roof; he’s not subtle. He just gets away with it, because everyone likes him. 

Oh, and he’s also Johnny’s best friend.

"No," Taeyong groans. "Don’t ask Jaehyun to get it from _him._ He’s an asshole. I don’t know how management hasn’t kicked him out yet—everyone on this floor has complained at least two times. They just keep telling us to wait until his lease expires. _Why?_ "

"Probably because his rich parents are paying rent that no-one else wants to pay," Yuta says. "You know, capitalism and all that." He swipes the ice cream carton from Taeyong’s hands and looks at the flavour. "Chocolate? How boring."

"Would you rather a Jaehyun-inspired creme flavoured juul pod?" Taeyong asks, rolling his eyes. "And you can get another flavour, you know that was just for me." 

Yuta laughs. "Nah, I’ll stay away from the creme flavour. I was just joking, of course I don’t mind." He wanders to the kitchen to grab a couple of bowls and spoons, coming back with two of the biggest bowls Taeyong has ever seen. He swears he’s seen his mother use one of them to make soup. "So, homework?"

Taeyong takes the bowls from Yuta with a raised eyebrow. "Homework," he confirms, serving both of them a heaping bowl of ice cream. It helps them get through the most dreary parts of their maths homework, and by the time they’ve finished licking their bowls, the required exercises are finished. 

Taeyong lets Yuta browse Netflix for something to watch as he heads to the kitchen for more snacks. Yuta, as expected, wants to watch a sad romantic movie—the kind where the boy and girl fall in love with each other, then one of them bumps their head against a car and forgets who the other person is. 

It’s halfway through the movie—after the boy reveals his desire to move to America and forget his past—when Taeyong finally decides to ask the question that’s been on his mind all afternoon.

"When did you know that you liked Winwin?"

Yuta doesn’t hesitate. "When he had to go back to Beijing and I realized that I couldn’t let him go."

Over the last year, Yuta had fallen desperately in love with a transfer student from Beijing: Dong Sicheng, or _Winwin_ to his friends. He’d come to their school knowing very little English, and Yuta was the one their English teacher had assigned to tutor him. He’d taken to Winwin immediately, coaxing him out of his shell, but the feelings didn’t come until much later—Taeyong was never sure exactly when _,_ but he remembers that Winwin was in the last month of his transfer year when Yuta would show up at his doorstep every day to eat ice cream and cry. 

And then, a week before Winwin was due to fly back to Beijing, Yuta had showed up with a giggling Winwin clutching onto his hand. Taeyong’s mum had looked up from the self-care book she was reading and offhandedly said, "Oh, you have a boyfriend now? That’s nice," to which Yuta had beamed and nodded. Taeyong had been too embarrassed to ask for more details back then, but now—well. Understanding this Johnny Thing is of paramount importance. He takes a deep breath and continues. "But when did you know that he liked you back?" 

"I didn’t," Yuta says, matter-of-factly. "I didn’t know. But I couldn’t face the idea of him leaving, and I liked him so much that I thought—why not confess? Best case scenario, he’d like me too. Worst case scenario, it’d be awkward as hell, but he was leaving anyways. Thankfully it turned out that he liked me too, so it all worked out." He looks at Taeyong warily. "Why are you asking?"

Yuta’s the only person he would trust with the Johnny Realization—people might call him a snake, but he won’t tell Taeyong’s secrets. Still, Taeyong doesn’t think he’s ready to tell him. Not yet, anyways. "Just…curious."

Yuta hums, noncommittal. "Hmm," he says, but he doesn’t ask, and they both sit there in comfortable silence as the boy comes back from America with a wealthy girlfriend, throwing aside the relatively plain-clothed heroine. 

"How are things in school?" Taeyong asks. Yuta and him might be close, but they don’t tend to hang out that much in school—since they don’t share any lessons or activities, they inevitably have different friend groups. It doesn’t mean they’re less close; it just means that they tend to hang out a lot more after class and on weekends. 

"Nothing new," Yuta says. His eyes are glued to the screen. "Football tryouts are soon, though."

"But you already have the captain position, don’t you?" 

"Of course. Who else would have it? That asshole goalie?" Yuta snorts. "Last time we practiced together, he was too busy texting instead of actually playing the game. Safe to say, he won’t be joining this year. Especially after my ball hit him right in the head." 

Huh. Taeyong frowns. "Then who’s going to be goalie this year?"

Yuta sighs. "We don’t know yet. Our options are limited; the players with potential are still too young. I thought about Jaehyun, but between basketball and his pretty face, I doubt he’d be that good of a goalie. So I’m trying to get Johnny to join, but—"

"—Johnny Suh?"

"Uh, yeah…who else?"

"Just didn’t know he played football, that’s all." 

"Well… not _exactly._ But he’s tall, confident, and has good reflexes, so our coach can definitely whip him into shape. Plus, he’s joined during friendly lunchtime games, so it’s not like he doesn’t know the team—wait," he pauses. "You got a problem with him or something? He a bad guy?"

Oh no. This is exactly what he doesn’t want to talk about. "Not at all. Want to stay for dinner?" Taeyong quickly asks, changing the subject. The heroine and the boy decide to meet for a clandestine moonlit walk. Taeyong can see Yuta start to tear up when the boy shakily reveals his engagement to the rich American girl. Tears swim in the heroine’s eyes. An operatic version of _I Dreamed A Dream_ swells in the background. 

"Sure," Yuta says. His eyes are watering, but he’s trying to hide it. "Let me text my parents. Your mum isn’t here, right? Will you cook?"

Taeyong smiles. "Only for you," he says, and shrieks as Yuta jumps on his back and envelops him in a big bear hug. "You’re the best," Yuta mumbles into his shoulder. "And just so you know, if you want to talk about anything…I’m here for you. Tell me anytime. But no pressure, yeah?"

Taeyong feels warm all over. It’s nice to be loved. "Yeah. Of course."

* * *

It’s eight in the morning, and Taeyong can’t go to registration because there’s a problem. 

There’s a sticky note on his locker. On it, a little teddy bear is drawn, its stomach tattooed with neon green hearts.

"Hey, that’s not a bad attempt at colour coordination," Ten says, sliding up to him. He’s smirking. "Looks like someone has an admirer, huh?"

Taeyong can feel his face slowly turn into the colour of an overripe tomato. "I’m sure it’s nothing."

Ten scoffs. "Look, there’s obviously something written on the back." He wrenches the sticky note off Taeyong’s locker, and flips it to the other side. _Hi, how was heaven when you left it?_ is written in pink sparkly gel pen, adorned with little smiley faces and even more hearts.

Taeyong chokes on his mint. Ten starts laughing. "What— _what,"_ he says, gasping for air, _"the fuck?"_

"Give that to me." Taeyong grabs the note out of a still-laughing Ten’s hand. The pink sparkly note is still there, unmistakably bright against the note paper. 

"What," Ten wheezes, " _what_ is that?"

"I don’t know!" Taeyong screams, flustered. He’s not usually given to bouts of emotional distress in public, but this—what? As Ten said, what the fuck?

A group of younger students stop to stare at them. Ten shoos them away and stares at the note. "Who do you think wrote it?" he asks.

"I don’t _know!_ " Taeyong repeats, shrill. He shoves the note into his pocket. "Let’s go. We’re going to be late."

"I’m going to tell everyone—" Ten starts, before Taeyong whips around and glares at him. "I was only joking! I won’t tell anybody anything. I promise!"

"You better not," Taeyong hisses, "If you do, I will tell everyone about that time you went to Jungwoo’s house and—"

"Nooooo," Ten whines. "Okay. I really do promise. Pinky promise. Just," he grins evilly, "you never told me you came from Heaven?" Taeyong grabs his bag and slams him on the back with it. "Ow! Okay! I’m sorry! I won’t talk about it again." 

Unfortunately, it turns out that Ten didn’t need to tell anyone. Someone had already taken a photo of the note on his locker and shared it to the school’s geofenced snapchat story, and it had spread like wildfire from there. _WHO STUCK THIS ON TAEYONG’S LOCKER???_ was the caption of the photo, followed by two unnecessarily long closeup videos of the sticky note. Taeyong takes one look at the username of the person— _fullsun_ —and sighs. Donghyuck. He doesn’t even go to this school, for god’s sake—he goes to a middle school two subway stops away, and he’s very aware that Taeyong’s on cousin-duty to pick him up today. Taeyong’s not looking forward to that.

"So?" Jungwoo asks during break. He sets down what must be three portions of pizza—evidently too much for their school’s crappy lunch tables to hold, because it groans under the weight. "Who is it?"

Taeyong looks at him. "You too?"

"Me too," Jungwoo repeats, patting Taeyong on the back. It should be condescending, but it’s _Jungwoo._ He doesn’t have a single mean bone in his body.

"I have no idea," Taeyong admits. He buries his face in his hands. "Who would put that on my locker? What a cruel joke."

"Are you sure it’s a joke though?" Jungwoo asks. He’s already halfway through that huge slice of pizza. "Seems to me like this person is just an admirer?"

"That’s what I said to him earlier, but he hit me with a bag," Ten cuts in, sitting down with a large slice of cake in his hand. "I think this person probably doesn’t know how to approach you, so is just, well…"

"Leaving embarrassing notes on my locker?" Taeyong rolls his eyes. "It all seems like a joke. Who does that?"

"Hmm," Jungwoo ponders. "A dumb idiot?"

"Exactly!"

Jungwoo hums. "But an _infatuated_ dumb idiot."

Taeyong sighs as Ten cackles into his ear. "Taeyong’s got an admirer, Taeyong’s got an admirer," he sing-songs, wincing as Taeyong’s bony elbow connects with his chest. "Hitting me won’t change the fact that someone out there _loves_ you."

"No, but it might make me feel better," Taeyong says vindictively. He picks at his homemade lunch—he followed a pinterest tutorial this morning and was very happy with how it turned out, but now, it doesn’t seem that appetizing anymore. The eyes of the little panda rice balls stare beadily at him, as if they’re accusing him of being a stupid person with absolutely no emotional control. Or maybe that’s just Taeyong.

It’s just a _note,_ for god’s sake, and it’s not like it was written meanly either—Taeyong can almost even appreciate the sentiment, despite how embarrassing it was to receive it.

"I can see you overthinking," Jungwoo says. He places his hands over Taeyong’s, motioning at Ten to follow suit. "Deep breaths. I overthink a lot too, but it’ll be fine, okay? I’m sure the person meant well."

"Yeah," Taeyong whispers, smiling faintly as Ten burrows into his side. "You’re right. I’m just all over the place right now," he confesses. "But I’m sure it’ll get better."

Jungwoo claps. Ten burrows deeper into his side, giggling. "That’s the spirit!"

It doesn’t get any better after that, though. He joins Jungwoo’s weekly meditation club at lunch only to find Johnny sitting there already, dressed in a flamingo pink pyjama set with matching polka-dot slippers and a frilly sleep mask. When he sees Taeyong, his face morphs into a wide smile, and Taeyong wants to die on the spot. Now.

Fuck his Johnny Realization.

"Hey!" Johnny says, beaming. "I like your mask!"

Taeyong had bought a pretty sakura flower mask to make Jungwoo happy, but now he feels unprepared when looking at Johnny’s entire outfit. "Thanks. I like your, uh, pyjama ensemble," he replies, because he does. It’s very cute. 

Johnny _preens._ "Thank you," he says. "I spent a long time devising this outfit. It’s cute, right?" 

Taeyong decides to ignore that question completely—he’s already answered it in his head anyways. "First time at meditation club?" he asks, as other people start to trickle in.

"Yeah! Jungwoo told me to join, and it seems like a chill and fun activity, so why not?"

Johnny is…friends with Jungwoo. That’s new. "Oh," Taeyong says, attempting to sound nonchalant, "you and Jungwoo are friends?"

Johnny brightens. "Yeah, he’s a cool guy! Also, he—" 

Whatever he wants to say next is drowned out by Jungwoo’s entrance, which includes the slamming of two doors and the excited hollering of a bunch of boys who probably want to get into his pants. 

"Everyone," he proclaims grandly, "welcome to meditation club! We’ll do something simple to start. Just follow me." He sinks down gracefully onto the carpeted floor. "Cross your legs. We’re going to start by placing our hands on our laps, gently. Remember: be gentle! Feel your body relax. Understand it. Pay attention to it."

"Hey," Johnny whispers. "Did you—" he starts, but quietens as Jungwoo shoots a scathing glare at both of them. 

"Johnny and Taeyong, shut up," he hisses, ignoring Taeyong’s betrayed look. "This is not the time to socialize, but to get in touch with your _inner core._ If you want to talk, please leave the room."

"I’m sorry, teacher," Johnny says obediently. "I’ll be quiet now." 

He doesn’t attempt to talk to Taeyong for the rest of the session, and at the end, he leaves quickly, flashing Taeyong a quick smile as he exits the classroom.

"I didn’t realize you were friends," Taeyong comments to a still cross-legged Jungwoo. 

"Who? Johnny?" Jungwoo asks. "Yeah, we talk. He’s pretty cool. But—" he hesitates.

"But?" Taeyong prompts.

"Well," Jungwoo temporizes, "he’s the sweetest boy out there, but also kind of slutty? Like a slutty sweet boy."

Taeyong gulps, remembering Ten’s aborted makeout session with Johnny over the weekend. "Uh. In what way?"

"In the best possible way. You know? He falls for someone really quickly and because it happens so quickly it never works out, so the cycle just continues? My friend dated him once. He said that Johnny just wanted to hold hands and stare into his eyes all day, which was nice but ultimately just became boring. So, yeah."

Taeyong pays careful attention to the pronoun and hears Ten laughing at him in his head—he really had not picked up on Johnny being anything other than straight. "I didn’t even know Johnny dated boys until Ten told me yesterday," he confesses. 

Jungwoo stares at him. "Taeyong, he’s like, _so_ not straight?"

"Yeah," Taeyong mumbles. "Apparently I didn’t pick up on that."

"That’s okay," Jungwoo says, picking himself off the floor. "I usually don’t pick up on these things either! This one was just pretty obvious."

"God," Taeyong groans. He really hates being so emotionally open in public, but he figures that this is not the time to care, especially not in front of Jungwoo. "I’m such an idiot."

"That’s okay," Jungwoo repeats serenely. "We can be idiots together." It’s such a _Jungwoo_ statement that it makes Taeyong chuckle.

"Idiot coalition?"

"Idiot coalition," Jungwoo confirms solemnly. He takes Taeyong’s hands in his, and pushes him out of the door. "Now go to class, head boy, before you _really_ get into trouble!"

Thankfully, last period is Spanish, which he likes, but it’s also another class with Johnny. Taeyong has to spend an hour pretending to be interested in the teacher talking about past participles and not the back of Johnny’s head, which is excusably distracting because Taeyong can’t see the board unless he cranes his neck. When the hour’s up, he dashes out of class without a second glance, so that he can 1) avoid talking to Johnny, and 2) avoid the inevitable after school student traffic on the subway. Once he’s on the train, he texts Donghyuck _I’m coming so you better be ready_ and considers having a second successive mental breakdown, just like the one he had yesterday. 

At least the compartment is slightly cleaner today.

Instead, he opts to text Yuta _ASDFGHJKL:" PLEASE IGNORE THIS I JUST NEEDED TO. ASDFGHJKL:"_ , because he knows that he’ll need to hold it together when Donghyuck inevitably pesters him with a hundred questions about the sticky note on his locker. He still doesn’t know how on earth Donghyuck managed to upload that video, and he’s not sure that he wants to know either—however, when he sees Donghyuck’s smirking face waiting for him at his middle school gate, he knows that he’s going to find out anyways. 

"So," Donghyuck says. He tries to hand his backpack over to Taeyong, but Taeyong just gives him a _look_ and he immediately retracts his hand. 

Taeyong prepares himself for the onslaught of questions. "So."

"Who was it?"

Taeyong raises his eyebrows. "Do you think I know?"

"Hmm," Donghyuck pretends to think. "Definitely not. You probably wouldn’t even realize if someone was peeing on your shoe."

"Hey!" Taeyong protests. "That’s not true!"

Donghyuck scoffs. "It is, and you know it."

Taeyong sighs. "It’s also just a _note,_ I don’t know why everyone’s obsessing over it?"

"Well, anybody would be interested when someone tries to remove the stick from your—"

"Don’t finish that sentence, or I’m telling your mum," Taeyong warns. "Also. You’re thirteen. You shouldn’t be saying those things."

"Don’t tell me what I can or can’t say," Donghyuck pouts. "I have free will. It’s not my fault I’m smarter than the average thirteen year old."

"You’re also more annoying than the average thirteen year old," Taeyong mutters. He starts walking towards the subway station. "Come on. No more questions. If you’re good I’ll even buy you ice cream."

"Wait!" Donghyuck calls, latching onto Taeyong’s sleeve in an attempt to keep up. "Don’t you want to know how I managed to record that stuff on snap?"

"No, not really," Taeyong says, grinning at Donghyuck’s crestfallen face. "I’m joking. Go on, tell me."

Donghyuck beams. "Mark."

Of _course._ Fourteen year old Mark is a lot of things, and being hopelessly devoted to Donghyuck is at the forefront of those things. It’s already bad enough on Mark (and Donghyuck, though he’s less likely to admit it) that they aren’t in the same school, and Taeyong knows that they’re both keeping a calendar to count down the days until Donghyuck can join Mark in their high school. "What did you threaten him with this time?"

Donghyuck continues to beam. "I told him that if he didn’t log into my snapchat account and post exactly what I wanted, I wouldn’t talk to him ever again."

"Was it Mark that found out about the note?"

"Yeah," Donghyuck says. "He texted me, _why is there a weird note on Taeyong’s locker?_ I told him to send a photo and he did."

Taeyong rolls his eyes. He’s not even upset or angry anymore, just exasperated. Mark’s probably going to receive a few choice words from him tomorrow, though. "You are horrible, you know?"

"I know," Donghyuck says. Proudly. "Can we get ice cream now?"

"Only if you promise to never pull that stunt again," Taeyong warns. "Just think about Mark! He’s going to be tripping himself over in guilt if you continue to do this."

Donghyuk sighs. "That’s true. Okay, _okay,_ I won’t. Now can we go get ice cream?"

"Yeah, we can," Taeyong says fondly. He ruffles Donghyuck’s curly hair. "Only one scoop today, though," he adds. Donghyuck shoots him a betrayed look, but Taeyong knows he’ll probably manage to barter his way into having two scoops anyways. 

Donghyuck, as expected, manages to worm his way into getting not two, but _three_ scoops because Taeyong’s weak and falls for his argument that there’s a really good three scoop deal today. 

"Do you really not know who it is?" Donghyuck asks as they exit the shop. "Like, do you have absolutely no idea? Not even a guess?"

"I thought we agreed to not talk about it anymore?"

"Yes, but," Donghyuck licks contentedly at his ice cream, "I’m _curious._ I’m joining your school next year! I want to know the gossip. And what everybody’s like."

"Mark tells you everything," Taeyong points out.

"But Mark isn’t in the same year as you guys! The information is _different._ Come on, tell me! Is it someone you like?"

Someone he likes? Images of Johnny in that pink flamingo pyjama set flash through his brain. But no—Johnny wouldn’t do this, he doesn’t even talk to Taeyong. "I really have no idea," Taeyong admits. "I’m not joking. I genuinely don’t know."

"Oh…" Donghyuck pulls a long face. "That’s boring. Well, if you ever find out, I want to know!"

"It’s probably some idiot who you don’t know though," Taeyong says.

"I don’t care," Donghyuck replies stubbornly. "I want to know."

"I mean, sure," Taeyong concedes. "But I doubt this person is going to come forward and admit that they did it, and if they don’t, I really have no way of finding out who it is."

"Boo, _boring."_

"I have no control over it!"

"That’s because you’re boring. You could totally find out using…" Donghyuck frowns, furrowing his eyebrows. "Niy...ni... _ne_ farious means," he finally says, grinning wickedly. 

"Donghyuck," Taeyong says exasperatedly. "It’s just _one note._ I’m sure it won’t happen again." They arrive at Donghyuck’s apartment building. "Now go up and text me once you’re in. And tell Aunty that my mum says we're going to have dinner together next Wednesday."

"Okay!" Donghyuck chirps, scampering off. Taeyong watches as he does his best spiderman impression and jumps into the lift, much to the horror of a young dad and his baby. Taeyong shakes his head. He really is the most annoying brat ever—he’s lucky that Taeyong loves him so much.

* * *

It happens again the next day. This time, the sticky note is in the shape of a cat, and the cheesy pickup line is written on the _front,_ so Taeyong doesn’t want to know how many people have walked by his locker and read _You must be a broom, because you just swept me off my feet_ written in gold pen. 

"What does it say this time?" Ten asks. Taeyong wordlessly shows him the note. "Oh my god," he says excitedly. "It’s so much _worse_ today." 

"I know," Taeyong says. He’s pretty sure his face is crimson red by now. "Who _is_ this person?" 

"Whoever it is...is really dedicated to doing this," Ten replies. 

He’s right—the notes don’t stop coming. On Thursday, the sticky note is a bright yellow star with the words _I’d say God bless you, but it looks like he already did_ on it, and on Friday, _Hey, you’re pretty and I’m cute. Together we’d be Pretty Cute_ is written in orange highlighter. Taeyong’s at his wits’ end when he peels that sticky note off his locker—this, and also the reminder of his Johnny Realization means that he’s been a constant anxious wreck throughout the week. 

It also doesn’t help that the whole school seems to find this whole debacle amusing. Even worse, it’s not just the gossipy students that find it funny, but the teachers too—he’s been stopped by more than one curious teacher in the hallways, and at the last Head Student meeting, the Vice-Principal had even asked him if he wanted to address the sticky notes in their next assembly. When Taeyong had asked her _why,_ she’d rattled on about fostering community spirit and improving moods, which still didn’t help to illuminate Taeyong on why so many people cared. 

Donghyuck has a football match on Saturday though, so he tells himself that he’s going to forget about everything at school and focus on cheering for his cousin. He asks Yuta if he wants to come, but Yuta declines, citing homework issues, so Taeyong spends his entire Saturday morning alone and bored to death. He decides to call his mum, who teases him for being in a clingy mood and reminds him to bring some treats for Donghyuck in the afternoon. 

Taeyong dutifully stuffs a bag with healthy snacks and fruit juice, as well as a first-aid kit—the PTA mums will have one, but you never know what might happen—and searches up the location of the field. It’s at the edge of the city, and taking the subway involves interchanging four times, so he opts to take a bus instead. 

Much to his dismay, there’s a traffic jam mid-way. Taeyong arrives at the location frazzled and worried, fearing that he’s late for the game, and that he won’t have time to wish Donghyuck luck and give him snacks. He rushes to the field, bag thumping heavily against his back, only to see that they’re only just getting set up. He breathes a sigh of relief and slows his pace. But as he arrives at the field with his bulging bag, he sees a familiar tall figure wearing Donghyuck’s school mascot costume wave at him. 

Johnny.

"Taeyong!" Johnny shouts. "Hi!"

What is he doing here? "Uh," Taeyong manages. "Hi? Um, I didn’t know you had a brother?"

"Brother?" Johnny looks confused. "I don’t?"

"Then, why…"

Johnny chuckles. "Why am I here? Well, Mark’s a family friend, and he asked me to come. He’s here for Donghyuck, and he said that the person who usually wears the costume is sick today. So I offered to come along and help—plus, his mum decided that he needed supervision, so I was probably going to end up coming anyways." 

"Mark’s fourteen, he still needs supervision?"

"Not really, he’s a good kid. But," Johnny leans down and whispers, "he gets lost _very easily._ And because he’s never been to this football field before, his mum would rather someone go with him."

"Ah," Taeyong nods. He doesn’t quite know what to say next. "Oh, it’s nice of you to help the school too though—I know it’s a little bit understaffed right now."

"I’m more than happy to be here," Johnny replies, smiling. "Plus, I love these kinds of cute mascot costumes. It’s always fun to—oh hey Mark," he says, when Mark shyly comes over to ask if he’s seen his bag. "Yeah, over there by the stands."

"Hey Taeyong," Mark says timidly. Taeyong was going to have a few words with Mark, but the moment he sees the poor boy cower under his glare, he decides to let him go. It was all Donghyuck anyways, and he can’t fault Mark for bowing down to Donghyuck’s demands—it’s not nice to be on the receiving end of Donghyuck’s wrath, because he’s _really_ fucking mean when he chooses to be. 

Taeyong smiles at him. "Hey Mark," he rummages through his bag and hands over two ziplock bags of dried apricots, figs, and apple rings that he dehydrated in his mum’s fancy new kitchen contraption. "Can you give one to Donghyuck please? You can have one too."

"Thanks! Hey Donghyuck! Your cousin brought some cool snacks for you!" he shouts, running to Donghyuck, who’s trying to put his shin guards on and failing. Mark immediately gets down to help him, and points to Taeyong once they’re done—Donghyuck lights up upon seeing him, and Taeyong mouths _good luck_ and gestures to the bags in Mark’s right hand. Donghyuck grabs one and looks beseechingly at Mark, who immediately hands over the other one without complaining. 

Johnny whistles. "Man. That boy is whipped."

"Tell me about it," Taeyong says. They both share a mutually exasperated look, before Taeyong’s brain asks him _what the fuck are you doing you whipped piece of shit_ and he immediately turns away.

"Well, I should probably get over there and put the rest of my costume on," Johnny says, gesturing at the head of the monkey mascot. "See you later?"

"Sure," Taeyong says, and starts to walk towards the stands. "Wait! Here, have one too. I have plenty of spares." He shoves a ziplock bag in Johnny’s hand, brushing his fingers against Johnny’s in the process. 

Oh god. Taeyong quickly retracts his hand, and tries to look at anything but Johnny. Mark and Donghyuck wrestling in the background. The PTA mums setting up their snack table. The opposite team conducting some kind of satanic ritual chant. The sky, devoid of afternoon sunshine. Anything but Johnny in his cute monkey mascot costume. 

"Hey," Johnny says softly, brushing his hands over Taeyong’s sleeve. Taeyong wills himself to not panic. "Thanks, dude." 

"No problem," Taeyong says, and flees.

The match is a friendly one. Although it’s to proceed into the next stage of the city’s inter-school football competition, the two schools know each other and tend to get on quite well. So there’s no foul play, although Taeyong sees Donghyuck contemplate tripping over the other team’s players at least two times. Thankfully, he doesn’t do it, and his team wins anyways, thanks to Donghyuck’s final goal in the penalty shoot-out. 

"Did you see my two goals?" Donghyuck shouts, running towards Taeyong to hug him. He’s sweaty and disgusting but Taeyong’s too proud of him to care. 

"They were amazing!" Mark butts in, panting from trying to keep up with Donghyuck. "The first one, was like, _BAM,_ right in, and the second one—"

"Just when we thought we couldn’t win!"

"Yeah! And the goalie! The way he dived towards—"

"—the _other side,_ like he didn’t anticipate it at all!"

"It was so cool! You were so cool!"

"Okay," Taeyong interrupts. "Donghyuck, I’m so proud of you, but let’s leave the freaking out to later, okay? As an apology for not being able to make it today, your mum left us a lot of money to have a celebratory dinner. Any requests?"

"Cheeseburgers!" Donghyuck crows. "Wait. Can Mark come?"

"Of course."

"Yes!" He pumps his fist excitedly in the air, exchanging a high-five with Mark. At first, Mark looks thrilled, but as Donghyuck rattles on about what they’re going to do and eat, his expression turns more and more worried.

"What’s wrong?" Taeyong asks. "You don’t have to come if you don’t want to."

"No! I want to come!"

"Then…"

Mark sheepishly looks in the direction of the still-cheering mascot. "It’s just, well, Johnny? He _is_ supposed to be supervising me, after all."

Oh yeah. Taeyong nearly forgot about the constantly dancing monkey at the sidelines during the penalty shoot-out—he was too focused on Donghyuck making his goals. "Oh, he can come too, I guess."

"Really?" Mark asks, wide-eyed. "He can?"

"If he wants to."

"Thanks, Taeyong!" Mark says, and goes off to drag Johnny with them.

They end up at a fairly well-reviewed American diner, decorated retro-style—every booth comes complete with red leather chairs, as well as the quintessential checkered patterns and the squirty bottles of ketchup and mustard.

"Ah, nostalgia," Johnny says, as he sinks down into the booth. Taeyong looks at him curiously.

"Johnny grew up in America," Mark pipes up.

"Chicago, to be exact. Moved here when I was ten." Johnny adds, grinning. Wow, add that to the list of things that Taeyong hadn’t known about Johnny. "Just reminiscing about how I used to eat this kind of food everyday. Anyways, let’s get something to eat! Someone online said that the double chocolate milkshake is a must-order."

They order an exorbitant amount of food—four cheeseburgers (extra bacon), three helpings of waffle fries, a coleslaw because Taeyong insists on at least having some kind of vegetable, four milkshakes, and a tall stack of waffles, topped with a heaping amount of whipped cream and syrup to finish.

"Wow," Donghyuck says, slumped over the table. "I think my stomach is going to burst."

"Me too," Mark says, looking queasy. 

Taeyong laughs. "This is why you guys should eat slower. The food in front of you isn’t going to disappear," he says, then winces—Ten’s right. He _does_ sound a little like an overprotective mother. 

Donghyuck cracks an eye open to glare at him. "Just like how the notes you’ve been getting aren’t going to disappear?"

"And how do you know that I’ve been getting more notes?" Taeyong asks him, even though he knows the answer is right in front of him.

Mark colours. "Dude," he hisses to Donghyuck, "I told you not to bring it up again!"

Donghyuck purses his lips. "Well. Too late." He looks at Johnny, who’s been silent throughout their conversation. "Hey Johnny! You’re in Taeyong’s year, right? Do you know about these notes?"

"The sticky notes?" Johnny asks. "Of course I do. Everyone knows about them."

Taeyong wants the ground to swallow him up. "Oh," Donghyuck says, interested, "what do _you_ know about them, though?"

"Well, just that Taeyong’s been receiving notes from an unknown admirer."

"Yes, and he’s been freaking out about them—"

 _"Donghyuck,"_ Taeyong hisses.

"Oh?" Johnny says, concerned. "Does he hate them or something?"

"Can we please stop talking about it?" Taeyong begs. "Please. Let’s talk about something else. Let’s talk about the football match. Or like, any upcoming ones. Premier league ones? Just anything but this, please."

There’s an awkward pause before Johnny clears his throat. "Are you going to be watching the Man City match later?"

"Yes!" Donghyuck cheers. "My mum just texted and said that Mark can stay over tonight, so we’re going to eat popcorn and have a sleepover as we watch it!" 

"Good plan," Johnny says, but he’s not smiling anymore. Taeyong mouths a _thank you_ and Johnny glances at him, looking oddly conflicted—but nods back. Taeyong frowns. Why would Johnny be conflicted?

"Can we go now?" Donghyuck asks. He’s already out of the booth, dragging a still-queasy Mark along with him. "Taeyong, can you pay so that we can go now, please?"

Taeyong sits them both down again. "You can wait five more minutes. Let Mark and the bill settle first, yeah?"

"Yeah," Donghyuck pouts. "But I want to go _now._ " 

Johnny stares out of the window as Taeyong pays the bill; his fingers absentmindedly brush against the yellow-lettered _retro_ sticker, lingering over the faint cracks in the glass. "Hey, uh, Johnny?" Taeyong says, hesitant. "Mark and Donghyuck are outside. We’re going now."

"Oh?" Johnny hums, looking up at Taeyong—their eyes connect for a few fleeting seconds before he shakes his head and starts to smile again. "Oh, I see, sorry," he says sheepishly. "I was thinking about…something. Let’s go."

Outside, the sky is rapidly darkening. Donghyuck and Mark both take their jackets out of their bags while Taeyong and Johnny bicker over whether or not Johnny should contribute to the dinner bill. Taeyong argues that he doesn’t need to, because Donghyuck’s mum meant it to be for Donghyuck and his friends, but Johnny insists that he should pay because he isn’t technically Donghyuck’s friend and he ate a lot. 

"Oh my god," Donghyuck groans. "Johnny, you’re totally my friend. Let my mum pay. Stop arguing with Taeyong, he’s already got enough horrible stuff going on…" he grins wickedly, "...in his heart."

Johnny immediately stops arguing. He looks horrified. "Oh, I’m so sorry! Okay, fine. But let me take them to Donghyuck’s apartment then, you’ve already done enough today." 

That sets off another chain of arguments, with Taeyong insisting that Donghyuck is his responsibility and Johnny insisting that since he’s responsible for Mark he’ll take good care of both of them, so Taeyong should go home and rest. The argument continues until Taeyong throws up his hands exasperatedly and says "okay fine, we’ll _both_ go," so the four of them crowd onto the subway together, heading for Donghyuck’s place. 

Donghyuck hugs him fiercely when they arrive at his building. "Thanks for today," he murmurs, kissing Taeyong on the cheek. "Thanks for coming to my match. And for dinner. And for letting Mark and Johnny come along to dinner. You’re the best cousin ever, I love you."

Taeyong feels warmth flood through his body. "I’m your only cousin," he points out, but kisses Donghyuck on his forehead anyways. "And you’re welcome. Have fun tonight, and don’t stay up too late."

"We won’t!" Donghyuck promises, and moves to give Johnny a hug and kiss as well. "Thanks for coming with us too, Johnny. You’re cool."

"Thanks," Johnny says amusedly. "You’re cool too, Donghyuck. Take care of Mark, and enjoy the match, yeah?"

"Yeah! Come on, Mark. Let’s go."

Taeyong watches them both go fondly, holding onto each other’s hands. They’re both adorable, but he wonders when Mark will ever start to feel self-conscious about being so friendly with Donghyuck. _If_ he ever will. He knows Donghyuck well enough to sense that he’ll always be that openly affectionate, but he doesn’t know if Mark—sweet, easily-flustered Mark—will always be receptive of that affection. Whether or not it’ll turn into something more. Or whether or not Donghyuck’s affection will be pushed aside, as they both mature and get older. 

"You take really good care of Donghyuck," Johnny comments. He’s staring at Taeyong, expression unreadable—under the streetlight, he looks ghostly, almost ethereal, and Taeyong’s struck with the unbearable urge to touch him, or to bury his face in his snug green sweater. It’s just them left now; no more Donghyuck or Mark to distract him from Johnny, and his very confusing Johnny Feelings.

Taeyong swallows. "Yeah," he says. "Our mums are really close to each other."

"They’re sisters, right?"

"Yeah."

There’s an uncomfortable pause—he doesn’t offer any more information and Johnny looks like he wants to ask for more, but doesn’t want to be rude. Taeyong takes pity on him. "Our fathers are out of the picture. We both took our mums' last names." 

Another uncomfortable pause. Taeyong coughs and looks away, pretending to be fixated on the smattering of night clouds in the sky. It’s a beautiful evening—the kind where the city lights blink owlishly at the sea, and the chattering of people filters warmly around them, surrounding them like a comfortable little bubble. He checks his phone for the time: nine-thirty pm. Still fairly early, and he knows there’s a promenade not too far from Donghyuck’s apartment building—a walk along the promenade would be nice. Should he ask Johnny if he wants to join him? Would that be too forward? Would Johnny get the wrong idea?

"Uh," Johnny says. He’s fiddling with a silver necklace around his neck. "Maybe I should—"

"—Doyouwanttowalkalongthepromenandewithme?" Taeyong blurts out.

"Huh?"

"I said, do you want to walk along the promenade with me?"

"Oh!" Johnny brightens. "Sure! There’s a promenade around here? Wow, I don’t come to this part of town often. Good thing I brought my camera."

The promenade is located at a fairly touristy part of the city, but it’s late enough that there’s only a few people left milling about—most of them couples, clutching onto each other’s hands as they walk. Taeyong wonders what it’d be like to grab onto Johnny’s hands, and intertwine them with his. Whether or not his hands would be warm. Whether or not Johnny would pull him closer, like the scene in the movie he watched with Yuta the other day, and brush his hands softly across Taeyong’s cheekbones. Taeyong feels himself burn in embarrassment. Is that what a relationship would be like? Constantly feeling warm all over? 

He doesn’t know. 

"Hey, sorry, I gotta pause for a second," Johnny says, searching through his bag. "Let me grab my camera."

It turns out Johnny’s camera is a polaroid camera, a _really_ expensive Leica one, and he blushes when Taeyong stares wide-eyed at it. "It was a Christmas gift," he says. 

"From who?" 

"...Me," Johnny admits, sheepish. "It was a gift to myself."

"It’s really pretty," Taeyong says, brushing his fingers down the mint-coloured camera body. He watches, enraptured, as Johnny slides a film pack into the camera. 

"Do you want to try using it?" Johnny asks. Taeyong nods, and Johnny hands him the camera. 

"Should I take a picture of you?"

"Me?" Johnny looks shocked. Taeyong blinks, feeling embarrassingly forward; he’d asked the question without thinking, but well, it’s not like he can take it back. He nods again. "Uh, sure. Here, press this button when you’re ready. Where do you want me to stand?"

"Against the railing, please. Back facing the sea," Taeyong instructs. He crouches down on the floor. "Look sexy."

He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth. Johnny reddens, coughing, and Taeyong wills himself not to blush crimson in embarrassment. "Uh, okay," Johnny says, and—fucking— _smoulders_ at the camera.

Taeyong really, really wants to die. He quickly presses the shutter, hoping that his hands aren’t shaking too badly. "Um. You can stop," he waves vaguely in the vicinity of Johnny’s face, "that thing now."

Johnny looks amused. "Stop my face?"

"You know what I mean!" Taeyong splutters. He thrusts the camera and the still-developing polaroid back into Johnny’s hands, and they both wait for it to develop. It turns out quite well—there’s a light on either side of Johnny, which helps to illuminate his face as well as bring some definition to the sea behind him. 

"Hey, that turned out nicely," Johnny says. "Do you want me to take a photo of you too?"

Taeyong hesitates. "Yeah, uh. Sure?"

Johnny doesn’t give him any instructions, just tells him to pose in any way he wants. Taeyong opts to close his eyes and make a v sign, smiling at the camera. When he opens his eyes, Johnny is smiling faintly at him.

"That was nice," he says. He hands Taeyong the photo. It really is quite nice—Taeyong looks very happy, framed by the twinkling glow of the promenade lights. "Do you want to keep it?"

Taeyong’s about to say yes, before an idea strikes. "Why don’t we keep each other’s?" he offers. "To, like, commemorate..."

Johnny looks at him, wide-eyed. 

"I mean, we don’t have to—"

"No no no," Johnny hastens to reply, "let’s do that. That’d be really great. I was just. Well. Nevermind." He hands his photo over to Taeyong, and tucks Taeyong’s photo safely in his bag. "Thanks for taking me here, by the way. The view is really nice. And the company too."

Taeyong _really_ doesn’t know what to say to that. "Thanks for coming with me," he chooses to say. "Do you know how to get home from here?"

"Uh," Johnny scratches the back of his neck. "Not really?"

"Let’s walk to the subway station together then." 

It starts to drizzle, but the city lights continue to flicker. Here, under the quiet pulse of the rain, he walks in silence, trying to ignore the brush of Johnny’s fingers against his. Why is he walking so close, when there’s so much space? 

But, Taeyong thinks shakily, he doesn’t want him to go away; every fleeting press of his body against Taeyong’s is warm and welcoming. 

"I’m sorry that you feel uncomfortable because of the notes," Johnny suddenly says, picking at the hem of his sweater. 

"Huh?" Taeyong asks, furrowing his eyebrows. Why does Johnny care about the notes? "Oh, no! I’m not uncomfortable because of them."

"Oh," Johnny says. "But I thought Donghyuck said…" 

"Please," Taeyong scoffs. "Take everything he says with a grain of salt."

Johnny hesitates. "So, did you like them?" he finally asks. 

"I don’t know," Taeyong says honestly. "It’s just a little weird, I guess. To—" He breaks off, feeling awkward. "Well, to—"

"To be liked?" Johnny continues, soft. 

"Yeah." 

"But why? You’re a very likeable person."

"It’s just _—_ I _—_ " 

"I really do mean it."

Taeyong can feel some of his resolve start to break. It’s really embarrassing to be having this conversation with _Johnny_ of all people, and he feels the urge to run away, or to hide in a nearby tree—just any place where Johnny can’t see him. "Um," he manages.

"Like, I think you’re a great person, and I’m sure many people would agree with me."

"Thanks, but no," Taeyong whispers.

Johnny suddenly stops walking. His gaze on Taeyong is unwavering, intense. "Do you not trust me? I’m not lying. I promise I’m not lying. I have no reason to lie to you." 

"I—" He feels too small, too vulnerable, too fragile. Like a glass window bound too tightly to the wall, ready to break into a million tiny pieces. It’s just too much—he can’t _think,_ and that makes him start to tremble. 

Johnny notices—of course he notices. "I’m sorry," Johnny says. "I’ve made you uncomfortable."

That acknowledgement makes it worse, so Taeyong doesn’t reply. Johnny places a hand on his shoulder, but recoils, _hurt,_ when he flinches. "Do you want me to go?" 

Taeyong nods mutely.

"Ok. I see the subway stop in front of us. Do you need an umbrella?"

Taeyong shakes his head, but Johnny places his umbrella in his hand anyways. "Just in case. I’ll go now, okay? I’m really sorry."

"Stop _apologising,_ " Taeyong says shakily. The rain is really starting to pour now. "Please. It’s not your fault. Just go."

"But the rain—"

One day, Taeyong will learn how to be adept at social situations. Today is not that day. He turns, running back to the waterfront, ignoring Johnny’s worried shout. Rain starts to seep into his clothes, but Taeyong past the point of caring—he just wants to get away from the station, away from Johnny. He runs through the promenade, ignoring the squelching of his sneakers and the worried shouts from random strangers, until he reaches the end of the promenade, where the pavement slopes down into the sea. 

Taeyong feels sick; he feels his stomach churn along with the storm, and his heart pound to the crashing of the waves. There’s a little bench in front of him, so he sits—wet, cold, and shivering, clutching Johnny’s unused umbrella in his hands. He doesn’t want to go home, so he texts Yuta _can I stay over tonight?_ even though it’s nearly eleven and he’s not sure if Yuta’s parents will be okay with it. 

_Sure,_ is the immediate reply, so Taeyong walks back out and hails a taxi—it’ll definitely take a huge cut out of his transport allowance this month, but he’ll worry about it later. For now, he rattles off Yuta’s address to the driver and slumps back down into the seat, feeling useless. He probably fucked that all up—Johnny was being nice, and he ran away. What will Johnny think of him now?

"Hey," Yuta says, when Taeyong rings the doorbell. He takes one look at Taeyong’s dripping clothes and immediately pulls him inside. "Come on, I’ll get you a toothbrush and something to wear while you take a bath, yeah?"

Taeyong lets himself be pushed gently in the direction of the bathroom—Yuta’s parents must already be sleeping, because the rest of the apartment is silent and dark. In the bathroom, there’s a steaming bath and a fluffy towel waiting for him, so he robotically strips down his clothes and sinks into the bath. He scrubs himself raw—three pumps of body wash, two pumps of shampoo—and sits motionless in the tub, letting the steam rise up into his face. 

There’s a knock on the door. Yuta comes in with a toothbrush and a set of clothes, his eyes asking a silent question: _need any help?_ Taeyong shakes his head and is left in silence again. It’s not the anxious kind of silence, where he frets on train compartments and panics during promenade walks. No—it’s even worse than that. It’s the tired kind, where guilt is left to stew in the hollows of his mind, and weariness lingers after a long day. 

He sighs, sinking deeper into the bath and watching his fingers prune and shrivel in the water. By the time he towels himself off and joins a seemingly-sleeping Yuta in his bed, it’s past two am. Taeyong checks his phone. There’s a video of two puppies cuddling from Ten, as well as a message from his mum asking him what he had for dinner. There’s also a message from an unknown number: 

_Hey. It’s Johnny. I got your number from Ten. It was raining just now—I hope you got home safely._

_I know you told me not to apologize, but I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you those questions, or continued on the conversation when I sensed that you were uncomfortable. It was wrong and invasive of me, and I promise that it won’t happen again._

_You don’t have to accept my apology. Just tell me you’re safe, okay?_

Taeyong feels tears start to well up in his eyes. Why does he have to be so _nice?_ He sends back _I’m safe_ and puts his phone on the bedside table, curling up in Yuta’s bed and willing himself not to make a scene. To distract himself, he starts to plan out what he wants to do tomorrow—it’s a Sunday, so he wants to play Mario Kart with Yuta on his switch and make breakfast with the Nakamoto family in the morning. Then he wants to go home, clean the house, and do the laundry. Afterwards, he wants to go to dance class with Ten and have a post-dance treat at the fancy new dessert cafe that he's been dying to go to. Finally, maybe he can unfreeze some of the _seollangtang_ that his mum made last week for dinner, and video call her again—she’ll tease him for being clingy again, but he doesn’t care. He misses her desperately. 

He just wants to do anything but think about tonight—about the promenade, the pictures, the rain, Johnny. 

Yuta gently runs his arms up and down Taeyong’s shoulders. "You okay?" he whispers. He never asks for the details—he never pries, never pushes, just waits for Taeyong to offer them. 

Taeyong exhales. "Not really."

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

"Not really," Taeyong repeats quietly. "At least, not now." 

Yuta makes a sound of acknowledgement. "Anytime you’re ready," he says, and gets out of bed to turn the lights off. The bedsheets rustle, and Taeyong turns to the other side, only to realize that his wet clothes have been folded and put on the bedside table. There’s something crumpled on top of his clothes, so he leans forward to take a closer look. 

Lying innocuously on top of the pile, next to his silver earrings, is the polaroid that he took of Johnny. It’s damp and slightly mottled at the sides, but black ink is still clustered at the bottom of the frame. Johnny must have written something there earlier, although it’s now impossible to decipher; the rain has dissolved the words into a chromatography of ink, hues of greys and blues collecting at Taeyong’s trembling fingertips. And, he gasps unsteadily, he can see—at the corner—

—barely perceptible, the outline of a bleeding heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/ofjulii)


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